The First Year
by SilentStardust
Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid has just arrived at the FBI Academy and his classmates and instructors are not prepared to make the journey easy. From bullying to downright sabotage, Spencer finds himself fighting to become a full-fledged agent of the FBI and eventually the BAU. Eventual introduction of the rest of the team. Gen only, no slash.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Don't own.

Chapter 1

Virginia was a completely different animal than Nevada. The change from the dry, dusty heat of the desert to the humidity of the East Coast was dramatic to Spencer, who had never really traveled from the West Coast. From the lack of fauna and mountains, to be being surrounded by trees everywhere he went. It was an astounding sight to someone who lived in a place where a rock front lawn was common. In preparation, Spencer had been spent the last week reading up on the environment in the area. After all, if this scheme worked than he would be spending a vast amount of his time on this side of the United States.

Self-consciously, he hitched his brown leather messenger bag further on his shoulder, a memento of his mother's time as a professor before the slow downslide. He was standing outside the FBI Academy, located in Quantico, Virginia. It was his first day at the Academy and Spencer had dressed to the nines, prepared to be in his first professional environment. It was a lot cooler than he was used to, so he had thrown on a cardigan this morning over his dress shirt and tie. He hoped it was professional enough. It had been the best that he had seen at Goodwill, so Spencer had snapped it up last week. Nervously, he reached to run a hand through his hair and then paused at the last second. He really couldn't mess it up. Not after he had gelled his hair in place this morning.

He took a deep breath, eyeing the structure in front of him. Nothing had ever been so intimidating to Spencer before in his life. Beyond this door, he would be given the chance to prove himself and everything he said and did from now on would matter. He had to make it through the Academy. He had to. After all he had done, all he had sacrificed in order to get here, nothing but achievement could occur. Especially, since the recruiter, the lead profiler of the BAU had convinced him to join the FBI.

…

Caltech Lecture Hall-One year earlier

"Becoming an agent of the FBI is about more than maxing your physical fitness test, acing all the exams, and passing all the interviews, ladies and gentlemen. It's about possessing the drive to succeed, the drive to take down the bad guys no matter how long it takes."

Jason Gideon was holding court in the lecture hall. Spencer had been pleased to hear that such a renowned agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation had decided to visit the university. Spencer had never really thought of law enforcement as a career option, being more mentally proficient than physically, but after hearing of the lecture, he had gone to do research on the guest. He'd been surprised to see such a range of specialties in the agent and had gone on to do research on famous cases in regards to the profiler. This had led to perusal of several key texts in regards to profiling and criminology, several being the key word.

"What kinds of divisions are there within the FBI?" someone from the front row called out. Spencer titled his head to see the originator. He sighed when he noticed a female from the liberal arts section. He didn't have much use for the liberal arts side of the university, but as a requirement he had been forced to take one or two painful courses and he recognized the build immediately. This one liked to talk and would keep the lecturer's focus on her if she was given the slightest opportunity.

Jason Gideon turned his gaze to that side of the auditorium. "There are many. From White Collar to Narcotics to Fraud, as well as several others." And obviously he recognized the same tendency within the female, because he immediately launched into his next part of the speech. "I myself specialize in profiling, a key portion of the Behavioral Analysis Unit. The unit is split into four key sections, those of which I will delve into for those students truly interested in the agency. Moving on, I will now take questions from other members of the audience."

The girl in front blushed and laughed, though Spencer couldn't figure out the reason why. There had been no joke told as far as he could tell. "Have you ever shot anyone?" an athlete from the same row as Spencer called out loudly. Mentally, he sighed. Why would anyone ask such an asinine question? It was obvious, as a federal agent, that being forced to shoot someone at some point in his career would happen. Otherwise, the weapons would have to be just for show.

Spencer felt himself go red hot as the agent's gaze focused on his row. "Naturally, though this is not a key task of the job. It does, however, happen occasionally in the line of duty." He watched the agent's line slide down the row and focus on him thoughtfully. He resisted the strong urge to sink down in his seat. He realized he looked odd, being not only the youngest in attendance, but he had empty spaces surrounding him and had a pile of textbooks by his side, in case he needed them for reference or boredom. Not that he ever needed anything for reference, what with him possessing an eidetic memory and all.

He blinked when he realized that the agent hadn't moved on. That it seemed like he was almost waiting in that brief moment for Spencer to ask a question. With a mental shrug, he did just that, he did have a lot of questions. "Sir," he began cautiously, raising a voice a little when he received a slight nod from the famed profiler. "What would you say of the differences between key elements of the Scarsdale Skinner case and the official profile that was given when the BAU first communicated with the local unit?"

Spencer watched as Jason Gideon blinked and then tilted his head slightly, considering him. Spencer could tell that the profiler was thinking hard about the facts within the question, as to whether Spencer had thrown it out as part of a true quest for knowledge, or whether he had done it to impress those around him. Though, considering the hushed hateful whispers directed his way and the paper balls being prepped in a few key areas of the room, Spencer could see that Jason Gideon quickly reached the conclusion that it was the former rather than the latter.

"I would say that the elements of a profile constantly change as the BAU discovers more about the unsub, also known as the unknown subject, because we truly only know him from what type of behavior he portrays at the crime scene. When the initial profile was given, it was based on the first two crimes committed in the name of the Scarsdale Skinner. It was not until further crimes were committed that the BAU was able to accurately estimate his true motive for killing."

"And that was?" someone else called out. Gideon gave a genial smile. "Again something to be discussed at a later time, as I believe that our time is now up. Class dismissed."

Spencer waited until the majority of the audience had left. It took a few minutes, since a few of those eager to consider the agency flocked around the agent, firing out question after question. Spencer took his time, packing his textbooks in his favorite messenger bag and idly straightening his papers as well. Finally, after most of the audience had at least made its way out the doors Spencer moved his way down the stairs, pleased to see that the agent had waited.

"So, you must the genius I've heard so much about," Gideon began. "Why don't we go find an empty classroom, I'd like to hear what other questions you have concerning profiling."

…

Spencer hadn't considered that the lecture would lead to the possibility of a career. He'd spent several hours discussing the agency with Gideon, only stopping because he had a class that he would have been late for. And if there was one notable thing about Spencer, it was the fact that he wouldn't be late to a class. Ever. That one talk had turned into several via phone, since the agent had been required to return to Quantico shortly after. Those talks had turned into an offer to join the FBI, and if he made it through the training, the BAU.

Spencer bit his lip. He'd been assured that his mental prowess would be considered more than his lack of physical ability. It was worrying, the thought of doing physical activity and being judged for it, but he would survive. He'd survived worse things before, after all. Hesitantly, he pushed his way through the glass doors and made his way across a tiled lobby engraved with the FBI seal to a nearby desk labeled 'Reception.'

"Excuse me? I'm supposed to start today?" The elegantly dressed receptionist gave him a look. "Name?"

"Um. Reid, Spencer Reid," he stated, clutching onto his bag for dear life. What if they'd changed their minds? What if he wasn't supposed to be here anymore? What if-?

"Here we are," she stated, with a sigh of satisfaction, brandishing a sheet of paper. "Take this, go to the elevator, to the second floor and go to the first classroom on the left."

Blinking, he took the paper and obediently followed her instructions. 'Spencer Reid,' he thought to himself, 'welcome to the Federal Bureau of Investigation.'

End.

A/N: Well, this will be an interesting one, I guess. Please review!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: No own.

A/N: Hope everyone liked the first chapter. I always thought that the brief description of Reid's experience in the FBI Academy consisted solely of his explanation that he received waivers for most of the physical training. As I thought about it, I wondered what he would have experienced as a young adult, solely focused on surviving the experience and his classmates.

Chapter 2

Spencer had gotten settled in the night before. His bags had actually arrived before he had, so he'd spent the evening setting up his room. Thankfully, he'd managed to get into a private room, more than likely thanks to Agent Gideon. One of his biggest concerns had been dealing with a roommate who would not be able to deal with him. However, during one of their many meetings Agent Gideon had reassured him with promises that some people did, in fact, received private rooms. It was one less stressor present than yesterday, at least.

There was, however, the large stressor of today. The real first day. The first time he would meet his instructors, his classmates. The people he would have to deal with on a day to day basis for the next thirteen weeks. He was both thrilled and highly nervous.

The main classroom was pretty large. Over forty people and every single seat was taken. Spencer had chosen a place up front on the side. An easy escape plan if every he needed one. Everyone was dressed in a business suit and for a brief moment he wondered if he would be rejected on looks alone. A few looks came his way, but nothing so bad that would force him to run out and change clothes.

Anxiously, Spencer read the syllabus again that had been handed out last night, more out of reflex than anything. The morning was to be spent on an overall introduction to the course, as well as an introduction to the FBI. Following that, would be a tour of the academy, followed by the issuing of supplies needed for the next four months.

"Attention, recruits!" came a stern voice from the doorway. "Everyone take your seats and we will begin our first day of class." One or two stragglers, who seemed too caught up in socializing, started and guiltily slunk to their seats. It was amazing, Spencer thought, how often adolescent behavior can present itself in adults. Focusing on the authoritative presence in the room, Spencer readied himself for the influx of information that would soon come his way.

This will be a good experience for me.

…..

'I'm going to die here and be buried under some rock, my grave nameless for all future generations,' he thought grimly to himself later that afternoon. As hard as Spencer had tried that morning to restrain himself from providing information, he hadn't been able to help it. And it seemed the instructors had been forewarned of his genius status, because they had quickly realized that they would have to cut him off. Spencer couldn't help it though. No matter how much he tried, the facts kept spilling from his mouth as if a handle had been turned on.

However, when a significant question had been asked and only a joking answer had been provided, Spencer had felt that it was practically his duty to stand up and provide the in-depth answer. After all, an answer wasn't really complete if one didn't have all the facts. Naturally, this hadn't led to the making of friends, acquaintances or even people to sit next to for that matter. In fact, when lunch had come around and everyone had sat in a group, he'd been warned off with cold stares and in one case a very small shove as he attempted to reach a table near the back.

This animosity had continued to grow, when during the tour of the grounds Spencer had been asked by one of the guides near the back of the group, what he knew about the academy. He really hadn't meant to give a concise history of the grounds, it really had just come out of his mouth. And why everyone couldn't find the correlating history between the academy and the Edgar J. Hoover building fascinating was beyond him. The further cold stares from the other members of his class, as well as the slightly hidden mutters had only cemented his conclusion that opening up to members of the group would only be slightly tolerated.

The day hadn't really gone downhill until Spencer had received his large stack of textbooks from the quartermaster and someone had accidentally bumped into him. That had been a familiar situation, so he had gone with it, gamely picking up all the books and assorted papers that had come with them. It wasn't until the purposeful bump/shove afterwards that had convinced him that he would have some trouble in the very near future with a certain few other recruits if he didn't fix the situation shortly. Of course, there were only a few options in this one, so he decided to go with the easiest. To let everyone get to know him. He had to use small talk. He had never really tried to do small talk, since most people walked away soon after hearing that he was either a) a genius b) under the age of drinking or c) his fascinating discourses on a myriad of subjects.

And Spencer attempted to do that while waiting in line for clothing. While in line for dinner. And even while walking back to the dorms for the night. He attempted small talk, physics jokes (those being the only ones he understood) and even very basic sleight of hand tricks (no need to give away the game too early), but none of it had worked.

And after reading a textbook for the next day's class, showering and laying out his clothes for the morning's physical training did Spencer begin to worry. He could make it in terms of academic achievement, but with the slight animosity that had developed that day, what would happen to him on the physical training field tomorrow?

….

Physical training was hell. And running was exceptionally bad for the joints. No matter what other people tried to say. As he forced himself around the track, Spencer tried to calculate exactly how much damage to himself he would do per lap. Granted, it was only his second one, so it probably wasn't a horrendous amount, but it was worrying that a good portion of the class was a good half lap ahead of him. And this was supposed to be a warm up day!

Panting slightly, he took another turn, taking the time to adjust the fit of the shirt they had been required to wear. The only size they had available yesterday after everyone before him had gone through was medium and larger, so he definitely was not experience a comfortable fit. Especially, since the way it tucked into his shorts made the material rub the wrong way and itch.

The gap between him and the other recruits was slowly increasing with each step. Spencer had always been used to short sprints in order to get away from childhood tormentors, but he had never attempted to run farther than that. If he wasn't so out of breath and ready to just fall over at the side of the road, he felt that he would be embarrassed by the fact that even the females were passing him. Rather than expire on the spot, he bit his lip and kept on.

A white stretch of paint had never looked so wonderful in his life. And though he had finished well behind the others, and in fact no one looked out of breath now, he felt some sense of completion that he had managed to finish the course. Now, to only work on his time.

"Finally, Cadet Reid. We were beginning to wonder if a body bag would be needed," came the sarcastic voice of his physical instructor, Agent Davis. Well in his upper forties, he compensated for his slowly declining physical ability, by deriding others who he felt didn't belong in the agency, Spencer automatically assessed. Mentally, he scowled at himself. Now was not the time to immerse himself in thoughts about the whys and wherefores of another agent.

"Sorry, sir," he gasped, leaning over to grasp his knees. He did scowl at the site of them. He hated wearing shorts. Hated it. He wished it were colder. Then pants would be the uniform and he could the knobby knees behind fabric.

The instructor scoffed. "Sorry won't save your ass, cadet! Especially if you can't run faster than a turtle!"

A few snickers from the group. Spencer ignored them. They could mock his physical ability all day if they liked, and they probably would, but it wouldn't change the fact that he was still here. Still prepared to make it through come hell or high water.

….

There was a test that day to the surprise of most everyone in the room. Spencer was very relieved that he had read the textbook last night. They were given the hour to take it, and as they finished they were required to leave the room to wait outside. He was the last. Not due to any lack of knowledge, but due to the fact that he could only write so fast and in order to write everything that he remembered about the subject in such a small space required some analysis beforehand. Spencer finally had to be forced tp give the test sheet to the instructor at exactly one hour. He was still focused on the conclusion of his last argument, so it was with some trepidation that he handed over his sheet.

He came out of the room slowly. Wondering how badly he had messed up on the last question. Especially considering the fact that he had not managed to provide his overall summary and list his resources. And he had used more than one resource in his test, even though they were only supposed to use the one textbook. Wonder if that will count against me? Spencer frowned and leaned against the wall, ignoring the spiteful comments about his supposed genius. There would always be people jealous of him, as his mother had used to tell them. The worst action one can take is to incite them further. IF you do not give them a reaction, then they will eventually give up.

It took a surprisingly long time to grade all the tests, even giving the fact that the instructor had borrowed several aides to grade all of them. Spencer wondered at this procedure. Wouldn't it be better to grade them all later and hand the tests back in a day or so? He'd seen that practice employed often enough at Caltech to know that it could be highly effective as long as it was employed correctly.

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the continued comments, which were loud enough for the entire hall to hear, Spencer absently rifled through his messenger bag for one of his recreational books. Recreational being that it still applied to his overall learning objective, but was not assigned as part of the course load. He'd found this treasure yesterday while scouting out the library.

First rule of living in a new location; find the nearest library.

'I definitely wouldn't have found this if not for Dave Rossi's book,' he thought absently, fingering the various pages. 'In fact, I wouldn't have even decided to read Rossi's book if it were not for Gideon.'

Dave Rossi, father of the BAU, had written a series of books following his retirement a few short years ago. High up on the bestseller list, they were portrayals of the section's cases during the early years. Spencer knew that it was a recommended book in most colleges for those taking criminology.

Gideon had highly recommended it, as well as all the resources listed a few months ago during one of their conversations. The profiler had been mildly surprised to hear that the bestsellers had not made themselves onto Spencer's personal reading list. He had understood, however, when Spencer had made it clear that he preferred straight facts, rather than highly embellished ones geared towards the general public.

Spencer had been surprised when he had finally picked up the first book that all the resources came from the FBI Archives and controlled section of the library. He had made a list of what exactly he hoped to start with and had been exceptionally pleased to find one of the items on his list immediately.

Flipping open the copied file of one of the earliest cases of the BAU, Spencer found himself immediately engrossed in the beginning elements of a serial rapist turned serial killer. The photos of the crime scene were exceptionally enthralling. He was about to begin to try to analyze a note left at the scene when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

Startled, Spencer turned and came face to face with the instructor. Absently, he realized that the rest of the class had made their way inside the room. 'How did I miss that?'

"Cadet Reid, we're waiting," she said before abruptly turning and heading back toward the door. Her heels loudly tapped against the floor, and he couldn't help but wonder how on earth he had missed that sound. Spencer snapped the file shut and shoved it back inside the bag. "Oh, and Cadet?" she tossed over her shoulder. "See me after class."

Mentally, he sighed. 'I must have really messed that up. Some genius I am.'

End.

A/N: Please review.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The rest of that morning's class was highly engrossing in Spencer's opinion. Despite his eidetic memory and the fact that he already knew the information, he couldn't help taking as many notes as he could. Desperately, Spencer tried to keep pace and would almost have succeeded for the entirety of the morning, were it not for the classmates on either side of him. They found great pleasure in kicking his desk every so often, causing his pen to fly across the page, or depending on how tightly he was gripping it, to jump out of his hand and land on the floor. So far, he had received several very disgruntled glances throughout the class. Despite the commotion, the instructor ignored it, continuing with the lecture. Spencer forced himself to feel grateful. He hated drawing attention to himself, especially when there was no need. And in this particular circumstance, he would rather suffer the actions of others, than draw unneeded attention from those who would decide his fate within the Bureau.

That is, if I survive the training.

Pen scratching against the page, Spencer scrawled the last of his notes as his classmates headed for the door. Finally, the morning was over. An hour and a half lunch break, which he had promised to Gideon, and then back to another block of classes, followed by self-defense training. He followed the sound of his instructor's steps as she moved from her podium to his seat. When she finally paused directly in front of him he looked up, straightening his stack of papers and stuffing them into his bag as he did so.

"Cadet Reid."

"Agent McClearly."

A frown. A slight tilt of her head to the side. Placement of his exam on his desk. Clearly, she was curious and off-set by something. Most likely him. Spencer resisted the urge to glance at his exam.

"I've heard a bit about you, Cadet Reid. The gossip mill at this place is lightening fast." A slight smile. She was attempting to relate, be more approachable. Despite himself, Spencer felt his shoulders relax. Several studies have shown that when a person smiles at you, it is instinctual to return the smile. Also, that a person is more likely to return a smile to someone higher ranking than to a subordinate.

Spencer felt the instinctual return of the smile, despite his worry. "Oh? What have you heard?" Internally, he winced. That sort of question tended to lead others to believe that the person asking was narcissistic. Concerned only with himself. He did not wish to be perceived as such a person.

"Three doctorates, several baccalaureates. Published in several scientific journals, as well as one criminology journal. Very impressive."

"Thank you."

"That speaks to some sort of genius."

He nodded. There really was no reason to expand on it. After all, everyone here already knew. No reason to continually remind them of it.

"Which is why I'm not too surprised by your exam results," she finished, gesturing towards the exam booklet. _Lie_, he couldn't help but thinking as he looked at the perfect score. Despite how much she has heard, she can't help but be surprised. Spencer flipped through it quickly, noting all lack of written remarks until the very end. His eyebrows shot up, surprised. "I wrote too much?"

"Yes. And I would like you to shorten your answers if you could. I'm not surprised by what you know, Cadet Reid. I've already been forewarned that you will most likely have all the course material down within the week. What I am surprised by is your lack of brevity."

"That was brief." Agent McClearly blinked in response and ungracefully plopped down on the desk next to his. "Oh…" "I had planned to add my list of resources, but was prevented from doing so by the time limitations. Ma'am. In addition, there was an error that I discovered last night and I did think about trying to address it, but again, the time limitations prevented me from doing so."

"Ah, I see. In future, Cadet Reid could you try to limit your answers as much as possible? It makes it easier to grade overall." That did sound somewhat reasonable. Spencer wanted to protest at the limitation, but he could see from the glint in her eye that she would only ask once. "Ah, sure."

"I appreciate it. Oh, and Cadet Reid? Don't' worry about them. They'll get over it eventually. Most people aren't used to seeing someone so much smarter than them. I'll see you tomorrow," she finished, hopping off the desk. The sound of her stiletto heels hitting the floor seemed to ring in Spencer's ears.

"Yes, ma'am."

Spencer clutched his messenger bag tightly for a moment, thinking. It would be difficult to adhere to that request. He'd try naturally, but he'd never before been asked to limit himself so severely. Quite the opposite, in fact. Previous instructors had always been delighted to see where his mind would take him.

This was different. He made his way out of the room quickly, eager for his lunch break.

Later….Physical Fitness Center…..

Spencer resisted the urge to curl into a ball as he lay on the ground. That was painful, to say the least. Why on earth would people subject themselves to this voluntarily? Why?

"Let's go, genius." Spencer eyed the large hand offering assistance. It was a tempting thought, but considering the fact that it was coming from one of the instructors, he didn't want to add another reason for the man to throw him to the ground. Struggling to his feet once again, he'd been thrown by multiple people so far. He got back into his 'fighting' stance. It was very uncomfortable.

"You ready?"

_No, not really_. He sighed and nodded. Idly, he pushed a strand of hair that had gotten loose back behind his ear. "Now, remember what I told you. Lean into it. And try to relax when you land. It will hurt less." This statement, accompanied by a sharp grin, did not reassure Spencer at all. "Right. Relax. Can completely do that. Shouldn't be too hard." _I'm going to die._ Spencer raised his hands into the proper position and waited.

It was quick. So quick, he did forget to relax. The only thing he had time to realize was that he was flying through the air to the accompaniment of shouts as others were thrown at the same time. When he hit the ground Spencer felt all the air rush out of him and for a moment it became very difficult to breathe.

"Ow…" "You didn't relax did you?" The question, though sympathetically posed, made Spencer want to lunge from his position on the floor. "I believe that I attempted to, but I was not successful in the execution." "It just takes a little practice, kid. You gotta work at it," the agent said, holding his hand out once more. Determined, Spencer struggled to his feet once again, sweat beading his face. Irritated, he blotted it off with the sleeve of his shirt. Assuming the fighting stance once again, he made eye contact with the agent. "Let's try again." When he flew to the ground yet again, Spencer attempted to at least lean into the throw. This proved to be a mistake. When he landed, instead of landing on his back as he had previous times, he landed forcefully on one arm.

Pain shot through the aforementioned appendage and he had to grit his teeth. He remained in place for one long moment, waiting for the pain to die down. However, it didn't. Instead, when he experimentally tried to move his arm he experienced the very familiar feeling of white hot stabbing pain. This was not good.

"Kid? Hey, kid? You okay, man?" The concerned tone came from close by. Too close. Spencer's eyes shot open. Instinctually, he shrank back. Surprised, the agent moved quickly away from him with a concerned frown. Glancing around, the agent leaned closer once again. "Hey," he whispered. "I'm trying to help man. I'm going to need to help you up, even though you don't want me to," the agent added hurriedly, seeing the hint of panic in Spencer's eyes. "From the looks of you, your arm might be hurt pretty badly and I don't really want to make it worse. Now, if you let me help you, I can sneak you out before anyone notices you are still down on the mats."

Spencer swallowed a bit and then nodded again. He braced himself. The agent yanked him up with one arm and before Spencer knew it he was off the mat, out the door and moving down the hallway towards the medical center. Once they were out of sight, the instructor let go of him and moved a few paces away. Spencer felt absurdly grateful for some reason.

"How are you feeling?" it was polite, somewhat sympathetic. It was a far cry from what he was used to hearing when someone accidentally or intentionally hurt him. "Fine," Spencer answered shortly, hugging his now throbbing arm to his chest.

"Kid, you are far from fine. Go ahead, lay it on me." Spencer gave him an irritated glance. "I am fine."

The agent rolled his eyes and gave him a slight grin. "Alright, you have your pride. I'll accept it." They walked in silence for a bit. "Hey, kid. What's your name?"

"Reid." "Reid, huh, is that your only name?" Spencer shot him a slightly scandalized glance. "Of course not. In this day and age it is highly unlikely for a person to only have one name, unless they we-"

"Hey, hey, hey! Chill, dude! Just asked a question," the man said, giving another grin. "Anyway, for future reference, the name's Morgan. I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other. I help out with the defense classes a couple times a week."

"Right." Spencer gave him a half-smile as he went through the door to the medical center. "Thanks."

End.


End file.
